Surviving
by keelhaulrose
Summary: Four years after the snap Hermione and Steve meet up and discuss the past. Part 5 of Marked series


**Part 5 of the Marked series**

**I'm going to be dumping a bunch of fics today. They were all written for the Hermione's Haven #HHBingo19 event. If you do not follow me on AO3 I would suggest going over there sometime, most of these fics have artwork accompanying them there.**

**This was my N5 square: hurt/comfort**

She had never been to New York, but she had seen it enough in movies and on the telly that she thought she knew the sounds of the city, but reality was different. Or maybe it wasn't, maybe it had changed four years ago, when the world had changed. When they had lost.

The coffee was laughable but she didn't complain. She wasn't really drinking it anyways. Around her the city was muted, not nearly as many cars honking as she had envisioned, the sidewalks not nearly as crowded. In the years after the snap the cities had become less populated, people had left either in search of jobs or just to escape memories, but many stoically remained, unwilling to let tragedy tear them from their homes. Some industries had been decimated, people seemed less interested in saving for a rainy day when they had lost those who might have inherited such a savings, or when the thought that they might be gone in a heartbeat was still raw, but other industries had thrived. Tourism had taken a massive hit at the beginning, but bounced back as people decided they wanted to experience things that others may have never gotten the chance to do. The entertainment industry was one of the first to come back with people clamoring for even a temporary escape from reality. A strange shift happened when it came to religion, with some people, even avowed atheists, turning to various religions in order to make sense of it all while others, even those who had been most fervent in their beliefs, insisting that the only higher power was a mad purple alien with unlimited power.

In the beginning the world had turned towards what remained of the Avengers, and those who had fought in Wakanda, desperate for them to somehow fix what had happened. It had taken about six months before the world started to realize that it might actually be permanent, that those who had made a stand had no way of fixing things. There had been some anger with that realization, but it was muted rather quickly. The fighters had lost loved ones, too, wanted to reverse things as desperately as everyone else, but with no clue where Thanos was or what to do if they found him there was nothing any of them could really do.

She checked her phone. He was late, which was unlike him, though time seemed somewhat meaningless as of late. She had nothing but time these days, and she found it better to spend it in the midst of a group of people in a place that could distract her lest her dark thoughts take over.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," his voice sounded behind her, and she instinctively stood. She hadn't seen Steve since they had left Wakanda. Bucky had been their connection, without him they hadn't really had the time to form the kind of friendship that was worth holding on to in Bucky's absence. Or perhaps it was Bucky's absence that kept them away, the thought of being together without him felt somewhat perverse in a way at first, but gradually the feeling faded. They texted each other every so often, but even then it seemed to be mostly just to make sure each other was alive and hanging in there enough to make it until their next text. It had been on a whim that she even told him that she was traveling, it had taken about a week to actually agree to meet.

She turned, bracing herself mentally to see him again. He was clean-shaven again, and it looked like he had lost a little weight, though it was hard to tell as he was once again dressing to blend in with a crowd. To her surprise she felt a small smile cross her face. "It's quite alright," she replied.

He paused in front of her, both unsure if their relationship warranted some sort of physical greeting, and before he could make the decision for them she sat back down, motioning at the seat across from her. He sat and ordered a coffee of his own before they spoke to each other.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm... surviving," she replied. "It's been hard. You know, I've told so many people that it would be best if they moved on, that their loved ones would _want_ them to move on that you think I might actually believe those words, but I'm having a remarkably difficult time taking my own advice."

Steve nodded knowingly.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Are you asking as a doctor or a friend?" he asked.

She bit her lip and shook her head. "I haven't seen a patient in nearly six months," she replied softly.

"Really?" he looked surprised.

"I haven't told you everything that happened since..." she sighed, and took a long sip of her coffee. "After I had problems working my magic. It's actually somewhat common for those who have lost loved ones traumatically, George still has problems... but that's not really your concern. I had problems using magic right after, so Okoye graciously made sure I got back to England. I had been home about two hours before there was a knock on my door. It was some government officials, I'm not sure exactly which department they worked for, checking on all mental health professionals in the country. They were making a list of those of us who survived. So, naturally, I asked what for, and they said they wanted to know who was available to help the survivors. So I asked them not to include me, but they didn't answer before they left.

"Three days later they were back. They handed me a large file, a calendar of appointments I would be taking for months. I tried to refuse, and I was told I had no choice. I, and every other surviving mental health professional in the country, had been conscripted by the government. We were going to do sessions with every single survivor, it was absolutely mandatory that everyone participate. The government wanted to know the mental state of all its surviving citizens. They told the public that it was just to give them an option to talk, that those who needed more counseling would be given times once our initial sessions had been completed. In reality they were looking for problems, those people who might lash out now that they had lost everything. I went to Kingsley, who was the Minister of Magic, but he thought it was a brilliant idea and added a few magical names to my list. And that's what I did, ten hours a day, six days a week, for nearly six months. I listened to story after story of loss while repressing my own, and I didn't have the fight in me to do anything but give the government what they wanted.

"It went on like that for a little over three years. It took me that long to clear my caseload, to get the survivors I could help in a good enough place that I felt I could leave without causing anyone any more trauma."

"The ones you could help?" he repeated.

"You know as well as I what the suicide rate after was," she replied. "So many people had lost everyone, I lost a couple dozen, some of whom I didn't even have time to see before..." she trailed off and sighed heavily. "Once I was finally at the point that I felt I could leave I did. I passed my remaining clients off to other doctors, others who could take the mental load, and left the country."

"And you came here?"

"I went to Russia first."

Steve stared at her for a moment in surprise, but nodded once. "I could give you the tour around here, if you'd like."

"I would," she said with a smile. "How about you?"

"Same as you, though on a different scale and voluntary. Telling people to move on. Not moving on myself. Trying to find a way to go back and change things even while everyone else has lost hope."

"Hope is a difficult thing to want to lose."

He nodded solemnly. "How much longer are you traveling?"

She shrugged. "I've got no reason to go home. There's nothing for me there but memories, and I'm afraid I might drown in them if I'm alone with them too long."

"Crookshanks?"

She shook her head. "I came home to an empty house."

"I'm sorry."

"I'd say you don't have to be, but you wouldn't believe it."

"Really? Why's that?"

"Only someone who feels guilt over what happened would still be looking for a way to change it four years later. It's not your fault it wasn't stopped, it's no one's fault but Thanos and his followers, but you're Captain America. You've won so many battles against impossible odds, but it's going to be the one you lost that's going to stick with you."

"I could use a mind like yours. There's a room at the compound if you want it. Nat lives there, too, and she's asked about you a couple times."

She studied him a long moment. "You know that if I had any clue about how I could change things that I would have tried already, right?"

"I know. You're not Banner, you're not Stark, but you were Bucky's, and you were a fighter, and you were one of us that day. If you want to keep wandering aimlessly, trying to piece together the past so you have a better understanding of what you lost, I won't stop you, but if you need a place to call home I'm offering."

She thought for a long moment. "Will you teach me how to fight?" she asked softly.

"You know how to fight, I saw you take down twenty aliens with one flick of that wand," he countered.

"With my wand," she stressed. "If I drop it, or lose it, or it breaks, I'm done. The closest I've gotten to fighting without my wand was punching Draco Malfoy in the face in my third year. I..." she took a deep breath and started to finger the simple gold band that was still on the ring finger of her left hand. "In my heart, deep in my heart, I have a feeling this fight isn't over and if there's any chance that feeling is right I want to be prepared for any circumstance."

"Then lets get you in fighting shape. I hope you don't mind if Nat helps, she's going a bit stir crazy and I don't think I can stop her."

"Brooklyn first?" she asked.

"Brooklyn first," he agreed.


End file.
